


Hell's Coming With Me

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Plug, BAMF Castiel, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Flogging, Fondling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Demons or whatnots grab Dean and Sam and decide to have a lot of fun groping/molesting them in front of each other."   </p>
<p>I really can't describe it any better than that. "Demons or whatnots." It is *that much* of a PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Coming With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack and title both [Hell's coming with me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFIQhZJvcVs) by Iris. Good song. According to iTunes I listened to it sixty times while I wrote this fic. It helps me channel my focus, idk.

The last thing Sam heard was Dean, walking into the room with a calm “I think that’s all of them.” Then something cracked him over the back of the head and everything went fuzzy.

What ‘they’ were, the brothers didn’t know exactly. Not demons, because they didn’t take vessels, but something bad, and old. And familiar with the Winchester name, so that was a clue.

It was always nice to be recognized.

 

The first thing Dean saw when he woke up was Sam, sitting across from him, passed out and tied to a chair. His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, his ankles to the legs. A rag was stuffed into his mouth, tied in place with a piece of flannel torn from his shirt. A man stood behind him, and as Dean watched, he stepped forward into the light, letting his hands rest on Sam’s shoulders.

His grasp wasn’t threatening or rough. On the contrary, it was familiar, almost intimate, and something in Dean’s stomach lurched.

 

Sam stirred, testing his range of motion with the practiced familiarity of someone accustomed to waking up in restraints. He looked across at Dean. Dean’s hands were tied together, hoisted above his head by a chain looped over a pipe in the ceiling. Dean was staring at Sam with a look of determination, and Sam twisted, trying to see what was behind him.

Just a man, by the look of it. Or a monster. Some kind of creature, but in any case, nothing that should provoke the look he was getting from Dean.

He rolled his jaw, trying to see if he could work the gag out, but no dice.

“Take your hands off him, or you’re gonna lose them,” Dean said in a deceptively casual voice.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats, Dean,” the creature responded.

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first douchebag to make that mistake.”

Sam almost groaned.

 

“Let’s see if we can take that cocky bravado down a peg.” The monster gestured to someone in the shadows behind him, and Dean felt the chain holding his arms retracting. It pulled inexorably upwards, dragging him to his feet. It kept going, pulling his shoulders tight and forcing him to stand on his toes.

“Is this when the lady in the leather bra comes in?” he asked, but the words came out strained. His shoulders were already beginning to ache.

“Not exactly,” the monster holding Sam said, and another man appeared behind him. A dangerous looking pair of kitchen shears glinted in his hands. Dean yanked at the chains, but calmed when the newcomer passed Sam.

 

Sam ran his fingertips across the arms of the chair, methodically, checking for a loose splinter, a nail, a rough spot, anything he could use to work his wrists free. There was usually a small blade hidden in his watchband, but that was missing.

A gleam of silver caught his eye, and he watched in horror as one of the creatures approached Dean. He opened the shears with a _schick_ , closing them and opening them again.

“Normally I’ve gotta pay extra for this,” Dean quipped, but Sam could hear fear in his brother’s voice. He struggled against his ties, wondering if he could break through with sheer strength, but hands closed down over his shoulders like clamps, holding him still.

“Hush now, watch the show,” a voice crooned in his ear. The hands slid down over his chest, and he felt warm breath in his ear.

 

Dean tried not to gasp when cold metal pressed against his belly. It wasn’t the blade side, he reminded himself. It was the dull side.

The scissors made a muffled _shick-shick-shick_ as they moved up his body, cutting through three layers at once, laying his skin bare to the cool air.

The creature cut through one sleeve, then the other, casting the shirts aside and leaving Dean hanging there.

Sam was squirming against his bonds, and Dean realized the creature was fondling him, one hand tight around Sam’s throat while the other palmed his junk through his jeans.

“Let. Him. Go,” Dean growled, yanking at the chain for real now. Sam was looking at him through wide eyes, and Dean could see fear there.

“You should worry more about yourself,” the creature holding Sam admonished. It drew it’s tongue up the shell of Sam’s ear, and Sam muttered something dark into the gag. The creature clucked. “Such a _tease,_ Sam.”

It gripped the hem of his shirt, yanking it open and sending buttons scattering across the floor.

“Don’t play with your food,” Dean’s creature muttered, and Dean heard another _schick_ as the shears sliced through his jeans. He came to his senses, realizing that his feet weren’t bound, and pulled his weight up onto the chain. He swung back and kicked hard, landing a boot right in the creature’s nose. It broke with a satisfying _crunch_.

“Play with that,” Dean smirked.

The creature stood, shaking it’s head, the broken bone already healing. He looked into Dean’s eyes, brown meeting green, and then he slapped the hunter across the face and stalked out of the room.

“He’ll be back,” Sam’s creature assured them.

The sound of metal on concrete echoed through the room, and the creature returned, dragging a length of metal pipe. It looked heavy and dangerous and Dean suddenly worried if maybe provoking the creature had been a bad idea.

Sam shouted wordlessly, yanking at the ropes holding him down.

“Cool it, Sam. I bet he hits like a girl anyway.” Dean smirked down at the creature with an arrogance he didn’t feel.

“Kick me again and I’ll cut off something you’ll miss,” the thing hissed at him, and then it knelt down in front of him again. Dean tried to look down, but couldn’t see what was happening. He felt ropes tightening around his left ankle, securing it firmly to one end up the pipe. He glanced up at Sam.

Sam was frozen in place, eyes shut, forehead furrowed. The man behind him had pulled his shirts open, exposing his chest and belly and shoulders. One hand was gripping Sam’s throat, holding his chin up, while the other pinched and twisted at one of Sam’s nipples.

Ropes tightened around his other ankle, binding it to the other end of the pipe and forcing Dean to put more of his weight on the chain. His feet were spread wide, and even on his toes, he could barely reach the ground.

 

Sam opened his eyes when he heard the shears again, working their way relentlessly up Dean’s pant leg. His brother met his gaze, and Sam could see that Dean was trying to look brave.

He felt a warm, wet feeling on the side of his throat and blushed when he realized Dean was watching him get hickeys from a dude. Or a dude-shaped monster, but still, essentially a dude. He groaned, pulling away as best he could, but the hand on his throat kept him mostly still.

The other slid between his legs again, cupping his cock and balls and stroking them through the denim. Sam didn’t think he’d ever been less aroused in his life. He tried to close his legs, push the thing away, but with his ankles bound to the chair there wasn’t much he could do.

The kneeling creature had some trouble with the hem of Dean’s jeans, where the denim was thicker, but he wrenched through it. He tossed the slashed clothes into the corner, leaving Dean hanging naked from the ceiling.

“Mind doing me a favor while you’re down there?” Dean asked, but his voice was weak and his face was turning red. Sam wished he could say something, but he wasn’t sure what he’d say if he could.

The kneeling creature stood, passing the shears to the other before leaving the room again. Sam became invested in holding very still as one blade slid under the band of his boxers. It trailed over the skin above his public bone, heading downward far too fast for comfort.

And then the blades closed, opening a cut just to the side of Sam’s fly. The blade descended again, scraping along his iliac crest and over the top of his thigh. They closed again and Sam groaned, because it was getting harder to deny what was happening here.

 

Dean watched the blades like a hawk as the monster cut open his brother’s clothes. At least it was just clothes. He wasn’t cutting anything off Sam, yet, and that meant that they had time. Not a _lot_ of time, and things honestly didn’t look promising at the moment, but they’d wriggled out of worse stuff than this before.

“Heh. Hey Sam. Know what this reminds me of?”

Sam looked up at him, more than a hint of panic in his dark eyes.

“This is just like- _just like_ \- that time you married Becky Rosen. Remember?”

The creature was pushing Sam’s pants down, letting them bunch around his knees. Sam clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to watch while the creature took his cock in hand.

“We laughed about that. We’ll laugh about this. Sam? We’re gonna laugh about this.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna get real fucking funny in here in a minute.”

 

The other creature was back, and Dean’s sharp breath told Sam that he hadn’t brought anything good.

Dean stared at the broken-faced creature, unable to keep the shock off his face. He hoped it was shock, but a little nagging voice told him it probably looked more like fear.

“I was gonna make Sam choose, but I’ve since decided that you’re getting both.”

The creature’s left hand held a leather flogger, the tails long and knotted, but Dean wasn’t focused on that. He was looking at the creature’s right hand.

Dean had watched a lot of porn in his life, a lot of it edging toward weird. He knew a butt plug when he saw one, and the bumpy, bubbled glass thing in the creature’s right hand was _definitely_ a plug.

“You’re gonna take this,” the creature stated coldly, “and I’m gonna whip you, and Sam’s gonna watch.”

Dean’s face paled. Sam let out a groan. Dean didn’t look too closely at what the other creature was doing to his brother.

“You know what this is. I can tell. Now, the question is, do you want to suck it, or is it going in dry?”

“The fuck kind of question is that?”

“The kind you’ll want to consider very carefully before answering.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dry it is.”

 

“Eyes open, Sammy,” the creature murmured in Sam’s ear. His mouth was warm on Sam’s throat and Sam was horrified to realize his cock was getting hard. The creature was stroking him gently, fingers dipping down to tickle over his sac.

Sam shook his head vigorously, clamping his eyes shut. Dean gasped, letting out an involuntary whimper. Sam didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to see his older brother hanging there naked and helpless and violated.

A loud _smack_ rang out through the room and Dean made a choked little gasping sound.

“That all you got?”

“No, Dean. That was my hand. I’ve still got the flogger.”

“Open your eyes, Sam. We can make this a lot harder on both of you, if we want.”

He didn’t want to. The hand on his balls tightened, and he gasped.

“Sam, look at me.”

Dean’s voice was loud, with an edge of a tremor. Sam did as he was told, looking at his brother’s face and nowhere else. Dean’s eyes were fixed on his. Sam held them, half-hoping and half-praying that Dean couldn’t see how he was reacting to the monster’s touch.

_Crack!_

Pain sliced across Dean’s face and Sam screamed, pulling at his binds.

“Don’t worry, Sam, you’ll get your turn.”

_Crack!_

“Maybe skip the plug, though. I’m a fan of the real thing, myself.

_Crack!_

“Think big brother would like watching you get fucked?”

“Don’t you fucking _touch_ him!” Dean roared.

_Crack!_

Stinging pain spread over Dean’s back, fading quickly to little more than a deep warmth. They could do worse than this, and they both knew it.

“Bit late for that, Dean. See how little bro gets hard for you?”

Sam groaned, his face burning red.

_Crack!_

“Think you could come like this, Sam? Seeing your brother all spread and plugged and spanked?”

“Fuck you!”

_Crack!_

Dean hissed.

 

“Come for me, and we’ll let him down,” the creature murmured in Sam’s ear. Sam looked up at his brother through eyes filling with tears. Bright patches were rising on Dean’s skin where the flog had landed. His arms were wrenched painfully high, and more distressingly, his hands and fingers were starting to get dusky where the bindings were cutting off his circulation. Sam knew what that felt like.

_Crack!_

Dean couldn’t hang there forever.

Sam fixed his eyes on his brother’s face, losing focus, trying to force his mind to go elsewhere. The creature’s grip tightened, pulling at his cock in a way that was bordering on painful.

_Crack!_

Dean groaned. It sounded angry, but Sam knew how his brother masked pain.

The creature nibbled his ear.

He couldn’t do it. There was no way. Not like this.

Something crashed behind him, and the room began to fill with light.

“What the f-” the creature started, but he didn’t finish because he was busy being hurled across the room. He slammed into the far wall with a crash.

 

“Cas?” Dean asked, and he really did need to ask. The passageway behind Sam had been dark, but the creature stalking down it now looked like pure light.

Pure light in a familiar baggy trench coat.

“On this plane,” the Cas-light began, in a voice rich and dark that sounded exactly and nothing like the vessel he occupied, “there is no way to show you the scope of punishment available in heaven.

“But I hope,” he continued, crossing the room and picking the crumpled monster up by the throat, “that this might serve as a demonstration, pale though it is, of what awaits you.”

His eyes burned a fiery blue, and the brothers had to look away. The creature began to scream. The shrieks grew in volume, growing ragged and then continuing silently when the thing’s throat gave way.

“Hopefully with this,” Cas remarked, dropping the smoldering husk and turning to the remaining creature, “you can _begin_ , to have an _inkling,_ of the _tremendous_ extent to which you have _fucked. up._ ”

“No. No no no no please,” the creature began, and then it was scrabbling at its own throat like it was choking. Castiel reached a hand out, fingers flicking gently in time with the monster’s tortured gasps. The angel’s eyes glowed and the thing… desiccated.

The light surrounding Castiel dimmed and went out. The fiery blue pits were gone, replaced by the crinkled, slightly sad eyes Dean was used to.

“Cas?” He asked again. His shoulders were killing him. The angel turned.

“Hello Dean,” he said, smiling.

 

Sam watched as Castiel crossed the room, lifting his hands to cup Dean’s face. The taller man dropped suddenly, his bindings gone and his clothing intact. He staggered, and Cas caught him, his arm like iron around Dean’s body.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, a little unsteady. Then, “Sam!”

Dean ran to his brother’s side, tearing desperately at the ropes holding Sam’s wrists. Cas came up behind him, pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead. The bindings melted off and, to his eternal gratitude, Sam found himself clothed again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I don’t-”

“Not your fault, baby brother,” Dean responded. He dropped his hands onto Sam’s shoulders, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “I’m just _that_ fine.”

Sam snorted, a laugh that sounded maybe a little like something else.

“’S why I can’t piss in a room with a mirror.” Dean elaborated. His hands were tighter than the tone of his voice would indicate.

“You’re such an ass.”

“Don’t hate me cuz you ain’t me.”

“I believe he meant it as a term of affection,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. Yeah he did,” Dean agreed, and then he stood, putting an arm around Cas’s shoulders. “We owe you one, man.”

“You would have done the same.”

“Yeah, and when we do, you’ll owe us one. In the meantime, I could go for a burger. You guys want a burger?”

Dean steered them back down the tunnel, toward the stairs or parking lot or whatever exit lay on the far side.

**Author's Note:**

> So... 
> 
> Another day, another graphic noncon fic. 
> 
> When I was two, I fell off my Grandma's porch and cracked my head on the corner of a cement staircase. I still have a scar on the top of my head.  
> Sometimes I wonder if that's the reason I'm like this.   
> If any of you would like to say 'thank you' to my grandma's cement stairs, you may do so in the comments. 
> 
>  
> 
> On a slightly more related note, someone asked me if there's a reason I always have Dean bottom. I hadn't realized I was doing it, and thought to myself 'I gotta write more Sam bottoms' and then this happens. It's not intentional, I swear.   
> I'm not opposed to having Sam bottom, there's apparently just some part of my subconscious that sees Dean and goes 'we gotta put stuff in his butt.' 
> 
> I just... [I really have no explanation for any of this. ](http://imgfave-herokuapp-com.global.ssl.fastly.net/image_cache/1386381938727304_animate.gif)


End file.
